


The Tadfield Line

by Argyle



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-15
Updated: 2006-10-15
Packaged: 2019-02-11 20:51:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12943623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: Newt had been at it all morning.





	The Tadfield Line

Newt had been at it all morning.

He glued tiny light posts to tiny kerbs, and paper leaves to brown wire boughs. The pavement was made of gray foam board; the figures were plastic, formerly shrink-wrapped and factory sealed. The engine and cars he ordered from a glossy German catalogue, and they had arrived on the doorstep at Jasmine Cottage just in time.

"Careful, careful," he murmured, and set the thin metal wheels onto the copper-plated track.

"Newt?" Anathema peeked round the doorframe, cradling a bright bundle in her arms. And within the bundle, Newt knew, slept his... His...

"Mm?" he said, and rolled the engine back and forth on the track. It was but a shadow of the way it would move when the electrical switchboard was activated, but he was saving that part for last.

"Are you all right?"

"Well." Newt pushed up his spectacles and rubbed at the tender flesh between his eyes. He thought this: I've not slept in days, or not properly. There were the midnight runs to the chemist or grocery for radishes and talcum powder, and the frequent nappy watches; and then, of course, there was this. Anathema was smiling at him. "Of course. I just want to finish this."

"She's only six weeks old, dear. You've all the time in the world."

"I know." A pause, and then: "Do you need anything?"

Her smile grew broader. "No," she said. "But you have a visitor."

"I do?" Yawning widely, Newt stretched and slid down from his stool. He met Anathema with a kiss, and gently parted the blanket. A gleaming pair of eyes stared up at him. It was then that he saw the cheerful, open face that emerged on the other side of the doorframe. "Oh! Hullo, Adam."

"Hi," came the response. At once, Adam leapt forward to pour over the train board. "Cor, Mr. Pulsifer, this is great. Did you do it yourself?"

Newt placed his hands on his hips, and said with circumspect pride, "Yes. I... Well, some of the parts had to be ordered, but I planned out the landscape and these--" He pointed down to a group of miniature rosebushes which fringed the train platform. "--I painted."

"It's _Tadfield_."

"Oh." Newt caught Anathema's eye. "Do you think so?"

"Sure!" said Adam. He leaned forward to glace into the glass windows, ran a light finger over hillock and glade, and paced forward and back before the far side of the town. His shadow, culled by the bare bulb which swung from the ceiling, fell long over the village green. "It's perfect. It's summer there, and you can almost feel the breeze."

When Adam said this, Newt believed him, and the hair at the back of his neck prickled.

"There's still a lot to be done," he said. "Perhaps you'd like to help?"

And Adam did.

He pulled off his jumper, revealing an identical jumper beneath, and set to work.

By the time they had finished, the engine, followed by dining car, sleeping car, commuting car, and caboose, traversed the track as though all the spirits of the wind were cased within their metal frames. Crowds crossed streets and stood in queues; the theatre's marquee boasted a new cowboy film, and celluloid fountains played in the park. Here was the chemist’s, and there the grocery. Model cars in red and blue parked and paused and went on their way. It was quiet, and tranquil, and not at all unlike the place they knew.

Newt breathed a contented sigh.

"I helped with the people," Adam said when Anathema returned to survey the scene.

"And you didn't have any, er, _difficulty_ with the wiring?"

"No, no," chuckled Newt. And then: "Why would we?"

Anathema shook her head and smiled down on Lower Tadfield. "It looks very fine," she said, and then thanked Adam for his help as Newt lifted their daughter from her arms.

"Here," he said, feeling something quite familiar and natural grow forth from the pounding of his heart. "Here's where we live."

A tiny pink fist emerged from the billowing blue fabric, and it opened and closed. On the platform, the conductor waved back.


End file.
